Author: Jared Abraham

Magical coffee

poetry

it happens everyday
i can’t make it go away;
with every drink i take
my bowels begin to wake,
begin to press and make such a clamor
that i wonder if i swallowed a hammer,
and so inadvertently i make my way
giving in to the unanswerable sway
of the pressure down below
raging like a bellows.

Purpose

poetry

Schmurpose
Burpuse

That’s what I’ve thought lately
about finding my identity
where i’m supposed to be
and in what capacity,
what i’m supposed to do
and how best to please you.

The only conclusion then to reach
is that i’d rather just be on the beach,
sipping from a strong drink
and trying my best not to sink
into the quicksand of oblivion
brought on by my suffocating boredom.

discipline

poetry

i want to write,
to be a star,
to make riches,
to believe in me
but instead
the ideas refuse to cum,
to mate and create words,
leaving an impotence
of silence;

and so i make a snack,
raid some tombs,
read on the toilet,
fix a drink,
make my brain fuzzy
as an excuse for the
non-bursting,
un-gushing,
nay-exploding,
masterpiedic,
self-pleasuring words.

Christmas Cards and Letters

poetry

every day now,
another one comes
with smiling faces
shot in happy places
filled with happy couples
looking devoid of troubles.

but an honest card came today
obstaining from
pictures,
places,
smiling faces;
speaking of
illness,
pain,
divorce,
death
hurrying to get through the letter
hurrying to get through the holidays
looking for hope in a new year
with no reason to hope that
anything will ever be any different.

Gas, food, and lodging

poetry

In that welcome phrase
is found all of the necesities
of a happy, joyous life,
traveling the road,
going to and fro,
never stopping, always moving,
observing, trying, surviving,
new things, new adventures, new places,
new people, new voices, new faces,
seeing giant balls of string,
and giant bells that ring,
towers that scrape the sky,
and fields that roll before the eye.
For what else is there for longing
after gas, food, and lodging?

orgasmic states

poetry

Hurtling along these highway streets,
traveling through the night
as the music pounds its way
into my head, heart, soul
driving!
Pushing!!
POUNDING!!!
faster!
Further!!
HARder!!!
HARDER!!!!
into the night,
into the darkness,
into the music,
wherever it may lead